


Salmon Who Would Tapdance

by maxiedear



Category: Fantasy - Fandom, None - Fandom, Short Story - Fandom
Genre: Short Story, creative writing, non-fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 11:30:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13189149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxiedear/pseuds/maxiedear
Summary: This is a short story I wrote for a class. There is no fandom, just a short story.





	Salmon Who Would Tapdance

I spot an elf sitting on a bench near the river drinking a Pepsi, talking to a salmon about tap dancing. They go on and on about how the elf once saw Harriet Browne dance when Harriet was only four years old. It seems outlandish, I know, but then again-- she is an elf. I'm not sure that the salmon knows that it doesn't have any legs. 

 

I settle into the underbrush to see where this conversation will take me. 

 

“This river was once full of salmon. The river was overbooked. It told us they had more room available than they really did,” the salmon says with a smile. “We were so thick that a man could walk across the river on the backs of us.”  
“Has anyone had tried to walk across?” Asked the elf.  
“An old Spokane Indian made it across without getting wet,” the salmon replied. “You should try it.”

 

The elf glances at the river with mischief growing in her eyes, takes a swig out of her Pepsi. She hops across the river, along with a final back-handspring to seal the deal. I couldn't see any salmon backs. She strolls back over the river to the flabbergasted salmon. I stifle a chuckle from my hiding spot in the woods.

 

“That was fun and all, but I have to get going. I have a dream to edit for a college class,” the elf smirks. “It was nice to chat with you.” 

 

The elf tips back her Pepsi, shaking the last drops into her mouth, then crunching the can between her teeth. She walks off into the forest, flicking the tab over her shoulder in my direction. 

 

“Damn elves,” sighs the salmon, “always such show offs.”

 

I get up and brush the dry grass and dirt from my jeans, still curious if the salmon knows if it doesn't have legs. As I step out into the clearing, the salmon stands up and walks out of the river.


End file.
